A Tale Of Two Halves

Chapter 2

Working when you're a Poor consists of many things. Our main role during the day mainly involves working in the zone: cooking, serving, cleaning, tending the gardens and generally just running around after the Rich. We are also given a reduced timetable for education, meaning we normally attend one or two of the 6 classes taught to the Rich's daily. In the evenings, if we aren't working in the zone, we can be 'booked out' by the Rich. This can include doing their schoolwork for them, cleaning their houses, or working at their parties or gatherings.

My shift today starts with working in the kitchen. I give Elsie a quick squeeze bye and leave English before anyone else can speak to me, although I have a feeling that Hardin has something to say to me as he lingers by his chair after the other Rich's have left. 'It's tight enough time-wise getting from classes to the kitchen as it is,' I tell myself as I rush through the corridors.

Entering the kitchen, the smell of Mama's cooking fills my nostrils. Hearing the doors swing open, she beams as she sees me. "Angel!" she calls, a potato peeler waving in the air as she beckons me over. "How were your lessons sweetie?" She pulls me in for a hug and suddenly all the stress and confusion of the day melts away. Mama is another one of the best things about this place. When I first arrived here 11 years ago, Mama took me under her wing and has looked after me ever since. I don't know what would have happened to me without Mama looking out for me, and I will be forever grateful for her.
"Not bad thanks Mama. What's to do first?" I say, taking the peeler from her hand.
"Veg please hun, we're running behind today."
I spend the next half an hour frantically peeling mountains of vegetables. Someone is always to blame when lunch isn't ready on time, and I'd seen (firsthand sometimes) the damage these Rich's could do when they were angry. Luckily, the 7 of us that make up the kitchen staff today are hard workers, and lunch is ready 10 minutes early.

Looking at the metal clock that hangs on the wall above the double sinks, I wipe my forehead with my arm and undo my apron.
"Where to next hun?" Mama asks, her chocolate brown skin glistening with sweat.
"I'm serving. What about you?" I reply as I wash the juices from my hands.
"It's the garden shift for me," she says with a smile on her face. Mama loves working in the garden, and I have to admit it was one of my favourite tasks too. The feeling of the warm summer breeze on your face and breathing in the fresh air felt almost like freedom. That, and the idea that it was one of the only jobs that I felt didn't directly benefit the Rich, made it feel like less of a chore than the rest of the jobs we did. I grab a plate in each hand and take them out to the serving table.

The dining hall is made up of 5 long tables with about 20 seats around each. At the front, another long table sits horizontally, filled to the brim with all the types of food you could wish for. My favourite was always the deserts, today consisting of a variety of brightly coloured macaroons, cake slices coated with a thick layer of icing and a number of other delicious-looking treats that I could only imagine tasting. The Poor weren't allowed to eat from the table, and the Rich rarely left any leftovers. What they did leave, we would always try to sneak and then share evenly between all of us back at the house, but the vast number of us meant you rarely got more than a crumb of one thing. I begin making my rounds, taking orders from the Richs who are seated around the room and collecting plates when they are finished.

I've made my way back to the food table when I feel a presence at my side. I look up and see Hardin standing next to me. "This all looks incredible," he says, grabbing himself a plate. "What would you recommend?"
I laugh a dry laugh and then catch myself, remembering who I'm speaking to. "The pasta is delicious, sir," I speak as politely as I can.
"Christ, what's with all the sirs around here?" he laughs and spoons my suggestion onto his plate. What did he mean by that? I wonder. Geez, this man might be one of the most attractive people I've ever met, but boy was he confusing.
"Can I get you any?" he asks, reaching towards a second plate. What? Seriously, who was this guy?!
"No thank you sir," I say and excuse myself, mumbling something about needing to get back to work. I try to push the strange encounter from my brain and begin clearing plates away from a table which has been left in a particular mess.

"304!" a voice calls. I turn towards the voice to see Jared sat at the table behind me. He beckons me over as his friends snigger. Oh God, what is he planning? I wipe my hands on my jeans and quickly make my way over to his table.
"Yes sir, what can I help you with?" I say.
He rises from his chair and turns to face me.
"I was just telling my friends here about this wild dream I had last night. You made an appearance," he says and his friends laugh again. I don't know what to say to that, and so keeping quiet seems the best thing to do.
"Well, don't you want to know what happened in it?" More laughs from his friends. One of them snorts as he laughs. Pigs.
"Yes please, sir," I say, trying my best to keep the quiver out of my voice.
"Thought you would," he sneers and two of his friends high-five. Idiots. "Well, you turned up at my door in the middle of the night, desperate to come inside." He leans closer to me and I can feel his breath on my face. "And let me tell you, coming inside wasn't the only thing you were desperate for in my head last night," he reaches his hands behind me and pulls me roughly to him. At the same time, he smushes his wet, hot lips against mine. My heart begins to race wildly and my head feels dizzy. His friends start whooping behind us as I try my best to pull away. His strong arms keep me locked in place and I feel tears sting my eyes in humiliation and anger. Just as I think he's loosening his grip, his hands reach down and he roughly grabs my bum with both hands, squeezing hard and making me yelp in pain. Fuck the rules. My anger boils over and I force myself back from him. "Get off me!" I yell and then slam my hands to my mouth. Shit.
"What the fuck did you just say to me?" he bellows, spit flying in all directions as his face grows red with anger. "You fucking worthless bitch," he shouts and slaps me hard across the face.

Before I know what's happening, I am pulled backwards. The force of the movement, coupled with the dizziness I am feeling from the slap, causes me to fall backwards. I hit my head hard off the table behind me and everything starts to go blurry. Pain sears through my head. Through my blurred vision, I can vaguely make out Hardin's outline. His hands are fisted into Jared's shirt collar and he is saying something to him, although I can't make out what. I lift a hand to touch my forehead. Pulling my hand in front of my eyes, I see a thick, red liquid covering my fingers. A loud ringing noise fills my ears, and the last thing I hear before I pass out is Hardin calling my name.